Irritation Delight
by mangachick1
Summary: Jason had taken the trouble to break into the Manor. Only to find it empty. For a little while, at least.


He was proud to declare that he'd made it to that level. To the 'walking in to the home he'd been adopted into and also, died out in; on a regular basis' level. Jason broke the lock, disengaged the silent alarms, visible or not, and hummed in the long, narrows halls with a practiced ease. He was undecided if Alfred or Damian's mutt would find him first.

In the end, none of them did. Jason did a tour of the large Manor, whistled and poked his head into each usually occupied room, and came up in the clear. To the extent that Jason stuttered to a halt in the middle of the long hall with the bedrooms on either side, hands stuffed into his pockets and scowled.

He'd wanted to bug someone, in the sense that his wish to irritate someone was a fallible ruse to just be around someone he semi-trusted. It fucking figured this goddamned close-knit family would ruin this.

Maybe they're in the Cave?

But Jason had trudged into the Manor so he wouldn't be around that world. He needed a break. He needed to breathe. Everything felt too raw, as of late. On the edge of a terrible notion that he'd lost himself and that the person he'd become hadn't been intended. That everything was just a giant mistake.

That Jason was a giant mistake.

Usually, Jason was all about denial. He buried that which didn't help the operation but…he didn't want to; self-control can only go so far when he felt stuck and stagnant. There needed to be a difference. Something needed to change. Jason felt a need for transformation. He just really didn't know how to go about it.

He wandered for a little while, in the air-conditioned halls, barren and littered with fancy paintings and ancient vases that Alfred touched-up every fortnight. Jason figured Damian's feline would scope him out but nah. He was alone in this giant house.

It was a little before early noon when Jason collapsed into the softest couch, in what'd been his favorite library. It was the smaller library in the East Wing of the Manor, which included at least 25 feet of treads and nearly as much feet in height, with huge arched windows that refused to be curtained and a view of the Manor's grounds. It had the plushy carpets and fiction novels, pillows strewn over each surface and a table to one side surrounded in comfy armchairs where he'd folded into to do his homework.

If he was honest, Jason sometimes missed this place more than Bruce. That also could be because Bruce just didn't quit it with the judgmental, frustrated and hopeful looks. Like Jason would jump at being a charity case. He wasn't all for that, by the way. It was irritating and bothersome, and Jason's trigger finger twitched.

He snuffled into the sofa and might've dosed off for a little while, because when he opened his eyes there was definitely someone else there. Jason blinked blurriness and grunted, "Go away," he mumbled, half drooled into the pillow.

"I can't," the intruder cooed, "You just look so adorable." He might've grumbled swears in response but Jason hadn't really noticed, there's a pillow in his hands and it's all the protection he needs from the world.

That is until he is poked, twice, hard and in the shoulder. "Jay…" Dickie-Bird song-singed.

Jason grunted, "I swear to goddamned hell I'll bite – finger off…make back-scratcher," he mumbled, already back into slumber. He rarely slept this well. He didn't have to be disturbed.

He heard Dick giggle, actually giggle, mostly just to be evil. "You what, now?" Dick prompted. Jason's objection to this should be noted. His head was groggy and weighted, refused to do more than semi-glower at Dick who practically preened, arms crossed over the back of the couch and glittered at Jason.

"I hate you," Jason declared. If anything, Dick's smirk broadened into a grin. One of the lights was right above his head, a godforsaken halo which blinded Jason. He yawned at it, tried to stretch, failed and decided to curl back into fetal.

In semi-wakefulness Jason recalled why a nap had been such a swell idea. He frowned into the pillow, "…where were you?" It's not like he cared. It'd interrupted with his dinner plans, is all – who the fuck is he kidding? He cared that his Familia hadn't aligned to previously unspecified whims.

Dickie-Bird actually 'aw-ed', "Miss us, Jaybird?"

"Missed hating your guts," Jason retorted. It was uninspired but it'd do. Dickie-Bird answered with the familiar, a mission that'd taken the close-knitted family out of Gotham for a while, just long enough for Jason to sneak in and find no one there. He really had only himself to blame.

Jason was tired. He didn't really know why he was there. It was better than being in his silent safe house, that's for certain, but what did he really expect to receive? He'd forsaken all of it, this life, to do what had to be done. He couldn't bake the cake and eat it too. Jason had never been that privileged, adoption or not.

Dick pressed a hand to Jason's forehead, "You feeling alright, Jaybird? You're a little out of it." His hand was lean and weighted, Jason swatted at it. He appreciated the sentiment, except it lacked in all the ways it mattered. It didn't feel real. It never really had and Jason didn't like deluding himself.

"As long as my zombie hind can breathe…" Jason huffed, absently scouted the library, and leveled to sit. "…I'm in the clear," he murmured. "Is Alf in?" Jason checked. If he was, maybe he could steal some high-quality food and skedaddle before he was roped into dinner plans.

Dickie-Bird disagreed, "You're not dead." It's not funny because Jason didn't ask an opinion. Jason tilted his head, scowled grimace, at his focused adoptive older brother. Main word being adoptive. Diminished in fact that Dickie-Bird barely spent 20 hours in the Manor in all the years Jason was there.

On instinct Jason, could begin fisticuffs but Jason had a plan; food and departure. Before it became deportation into a cell block, or wrangling for dinner plans, which'd probably lead to the former. Instead Jason exhaled, "Nah. That'd be real consistent."

"No, Jay," Dickie-Bird grunted. In disappointment, which really wasn't his right. Then he shrugged, "I'm going to have to hug you now." No. Jason objected. On principal, Jason objected. This was unfortunately not taken into consideration. "I don't make the rules, Jaybird," Dickie sympathized.

"You're such a bastard," Jason struggled. Despite swears and wayward elbows, Jason was practically pinned to the couch in what might've been called a forced embrace. Dick's breath was tickling his ear. Jason elbowed him but Dick just snorted, "You're on my ribs, _Dick_."

"You can breathe," Goldie retorted.

"I can also stick a bullet in your head," Jason mumbled. His cheek smooshed into the soft couch. His life sucked. Goldie snorted, practically draped over Jason's side, in what was definitely a mixture of pin-downed hold and frame rest. Jason exhaled, "I'm injured, Dickie-Bird," he tried.

"Huh." Dick whipped back dark hair, and began to poke at Jason's abdomen. Jason might've mentioned incestual molestation at this point, and Dick's elbow just happened breach Jason's floating ribs. He frowned, firm crease in his tanned skin, "What is that?" he asked. Probably before he lifted Jason's shirt to check for himself.

"I was lightly stabbed," Jason said.

Dick stilled. Is that really all it took? "You have a stab wound," Dickie-Bird double checked. He should be stabbed more often.

Jason jostled into a half-happened shrug, "…lightly," Jason agreed. "It's why I said I'd been lightly stabbed," he smart-mouthed. Dick's eyebrows convulsed in a peculiar fashion, full bottom lip jutted out. Is this a pout? Jason raised a brow and smirked.

"Grayson." Well, es una fiesta. "Todd," Damian inclined. His mouth pinched, teeth gnashed, even as his cat curled and purred at his feet. Jason's smirk broadened. Dick just leveled higher and awaited Damian's words. "Pennyworth and I wondered when you'd both stop being pathetic and come down for dinner," Damian spit.

Jason grinned, "You mean, Prince of the Middle Eastern Island is a lowly errand boy now?" Damian's face convulsed in irritation. See this, this is what Jason came for; the simple ability to say something and receive a multitude of dramatic reactions.

Again, Dick just happened to elbow Jason. He scowled. Damian brightened. "We'll be down in a moment," Dick said, on Jason's behalf, "Thanks, Dami." Jason snorted. Damian scowled, all batman kitty cat. See this, this is what Jason lived for. Damian wandered out the room a moment later, with a secondary glare that hadn't decided if it was suspicious or betrayed.

Jason snickered at Dick, "Your little bird's jealous, Goldie." Dick finally rolled off Jason, stretched high above his head, and Jason outstretched to kick in Dick's stomach but missed as Dick dodged back with a condescending grin. "So," Jason grunted, "When you going to let the kid wear the cape for you?"

Dickie-Bird's nose scrunched, "Since when do you want me to be Batman?" Since, Jason wanted a win against Batman on record. Preferably, in a populated area with multiple cameras that could be linked to high ranked media sources. "Never mind," Dick exhaled and lectured at Jason's snarky grin, "Is this your way of saying you want to be Batman again?"

He'd been so close to being free. Instead, Jason flopped back into the sofa's warmed confines. "Thanks for the reminder over my psychotic break, Dickie," Jason grunted. Dick looked about two seconds from ruffling Jason's curly hair, so Jason scowled and blamed the Richard. "This is your fault," Jason declared.

He isn't certain exactly what is Dick's fault but, Dick is at fault. Obviously, Dick grinned, "Come on to dinner, Jaybird. Alfred made Cowboy Pie. With that sausage, you like," Dick cajoled. His dimples practically winked at Jason.

"I like all sausage," Jason deadpanned. As in its name Dick threw a throw-pillow at Jason's head, "I've got standards, Dick-Boy," Jason chuffed. He patted the pillow back into the couch, just so he wouldn't hear about it later, and complained while Dick prodded Jason into the kitchen.

It had the large side skylight, marble counters that shimmered, a bar which held homework and potted plants, and an oak table illuminated in sunlight and scratched by various spurned attacks. Best of all, it had Alfred behind the counter and Cassandra at the table.

"Stop trying to convince me to leave Dickie-Bird," Jason loudly taunted. Dick's eyes rolled as Jason greeted Alfred, kissed Cassandra dimpled cheek, and helped set the table. Cassandra had an all-knowing glint behind her highlighted novel on her tablet, Jason flashed a toothy grin at it.

His plan had been food and departure, before dinner plans and cuffs sizes could be taken. It could still work for a quick lunch, he'd have to skedaddle before he overstayed, both physically and mentally but it'd work. Jason had come to learn there's a difference between self-preservation and being a douche.

Jason didn't bolt on those that'd stuck their necks out for him. Alfred didn't deserve that. Or, Cassie. Or, Dick, really, if he was being honest. That didn't mean he wouldn't irritate them to death. Pun on his life, intended.

Damian stilled underneath the door arch, "Oh. You're still here," Damian complained. Jason lifted a cocky grin from his tea. That was Jason's shtick. Even death didn't keep Jason back. Cassandra poked a knee in his stomach, Dick lowered yowling Pennyworth the Cat from the table, Damian surveyed the steamed vegetarian dishes, and Alfred ordered it all into place.

His shtick was survival, against literal death, which definitely helped Jason's line of work. On the other hand, hope had survived as well. Hope that this could be his life and last time he'd embodied that hope, allowed it to consume him, well it'd been an explosive end.


End file.
